From the Greek
by veerserif
Summary: Arthur is not the kind of man to settle for half-measures and "good enough". Written for inception kink. Arthur/Ariadne.


_Written for an inception_kink prompt: Arthur's always loved etymology._

**from the greek**

He's sitting on a table, legs not quite touching the floor. It'll be a while before his parents come to pick him up. The smell of well-thumbed paper is all around him, and Arthur thinks there's nothing in the world better than being surrounded by words.

* * *

Arthur's always been good at scavenger hunts. There's not really very much difference, he thinks, in going from that to researching people.

Chasing down the origins of words is somewhat similar to a slow-paced version of his job. It's a nice change when the subject isn't actively trying to hide, and other people have already compiled some information.

* * *

She watches wide-eyed as he constructs stairs with no end, structures that couldn't possibly exist, things that should only work on paper.

_Paradox: from Greek 'para' (against) and 'doxa' (belief)._

He explains the importance of mazes (_greek, 'labyrinthos', maze_) to her and watches her build her first impossible structure.

When they wake up she thanks him. (For showing her things that couldn't otherwise exist. For letting her imagination run wild.)

* * *

They're sitting in the warehouse after another day of creating and molding the dreamscape. Arthur is packing up the PASIV, coiling the IVs up.

"What does it stand for anyway? The PASIV, I mean."

The words are out of his mouth before he's had time to think. "Portable Automated Somnacin Intravenous device."

She smiles. "Of course you'd know."

He shrugs. "It's good to know these things."

_PASIV. Passive. From Latin "passivus", capable of feeling or suffering. Same root as "passion"._ Funny how that worked.

* * *

He passes by Ariadne's immaculate miniatures of the dream levels.

_Models: from the Latin "modellus"._

It's only after he sees her staring at him that he realizes he just said it out loud.

(She should have expected it. It goes with the perfect suits and the fountain pens he always tries to keep hidden from Eames.)

* * *

The weight of a pen in his hand, poised over a blank sheet of paper, is something that never fails to calm him down. It helps slow down the buzz of thoughts going through his mind at the end of a long day, allowing him to pick out the most important bits of information.

Or at least that's what he'd say if he were asked. It's what he says when Ariadne holds up a written note, asking her if she would like to have dinner with him.

It also seems far more appropriate, and Arthur is not the kind of man who settles for half-measures and "good enough".

* * *

"If you say 'from the Greek' one more time..." The corners of his mouth twitch up.

"Actually I was going to say 'from the Latin'." She glares at him but can't suppress a small smile.

"You word-lover – no, word-o-phile_._"

He will admit it has a certain ring to it.

* * *

"What's this?" Ariadne holds It up. Arthur smiles, dimples showing.

It's a teddy bear, the kind found in airport souvenir shops all over the world. If it had come from anyone else she wouldn't have thought twice about it, but this is Arthur. There's always something more with Arthur.

"Is this another one of your strange word-related riddles?"

"It might be."

She hits him with the bear. His smile widens.

* * *

They're sitting by the side of a rocky pool, a waterfall roaring somewhere behind them. Ariadne's kicked off her shoes, toes trailing in the clear water, while Arthur sits next to her (after dusting off the patch of rock, naturally).

"We should really do this more," he murmurs as she presses her forehead to his shoulder.

"Mmm. It's better than the last time."

"Seeing as the last time Eames was with us, that's not saying much."

He breaks off suddenly, surreptitiously wiping sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Is something wrong?" Shaking his head, Arthur reaches in his pocket for a ring.

The kick comes at the end of his carefully rehearsed speech, the water tumbling around them.

* * *

He opens the box before even taking out the IV. She takes it and turns it over and over in her hand.

Inscribed on the inside in immaculate handwriting (Arthur's):

_Love: from the heart._

It's sappy and romantic and cheesy and she knows it's from Old German (thank you Google) but it doesn't make it any less true.

(_A/N: Try finding out the origin of the name "Arthur"._)


End file.
